Playing It Backwards
by Storymaster Caith
Summary: The path to love is never smooth, even for the most normal of people, and Raphael Hamato and Casey Jones are anything but normal. Multichapter developing romance, RaphCasey. Rating might change.
1. You Find Out Who Your Friends Are

A/N: Okay all, here it is, my first multi-chapter TMNT fic. History has shown that I am not good with multi-chapters, and the fact that I have gotten even remotely far as to plan to COMPLETE this fic is a miracle. I do not own TMNT, if I did I wouldn't be in debt. This will eventually be a Casey/Raphael slash fic. SLASH. You know what that means, children. If you don't like homosexual situations, even ones as light as you will find in this fic, then you can turn right around and get the hell out, I don't have time for your idiocies. For those of you still here, please, enjoy yourselves and feel free to give constructive criticism.

Chapter 1: You Find Out Who Your Friends Are 

Fucking rain.

Every poet on the planet has something beautiful to say about rain, about the way it falls or the feelings it evokes or even sometimes the person it reminds them of. Rain is one of the most beautiful phenomenon in nature.

Casey Jones just wanted it to stay the hell away from him.

An hour. A fucking HOUR he'd been sitting here in central, freezing his butt off for a motorcycle that wouldn't start. He glared balefully at the Harley, then at his helmet, sitting fifteen feet away where he had thrown it a few minutes before. He then turned his poisonous gaze to the sky, secretly wishing that he was in the habit of wearing a coat. He would even endure April gloating about being right if it meant never enduring one of these nasty nights again.

Had the forecast even SAID rain? He couldn't remember. It wasn't often he paid attention to the weather forecast- just to the bit about criminals loose on the city before he went out every night. Maybe it was time he started paying attention. April would laugh at that, too.

Casey glanced at his watch. Where WA S he? He'd called nearly twenty minutes ago!

The worst part about this whole situation was Raph had TOLD him just yesterday that something sounded weird in the fuel tank. He had rapped three knuckles against it, listened to the sloshing, and informed Casey on no uncertain terms that something was wrong with his baby. The human had taken it in stride- after all, that bike had been through hellfire, flood, and one or two alien invasions. What was a wonky fuel tank compared to all of that?

A lot, apparently. And he would gloat the whole way back to Casey's apartment. Gloat and smirk and be his usual irritating self-

Two headlights gleamed in the distance as he stood up, peering into the gloom. The large van pulled up alongside him- Tortuga Brothers Moving, it proudly announced on the sides. The passenger window rolled down, and a large, glaringly white smile glittered at him from the driver's side.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" a Brooklyn accent practically purred. Casey flipped his savior the finger. "Shut the hell up and help me with this thing, okay?" he grumped.

"Thank you, Raphael, for coming out at midnight and saving me from myself. Thank you, Raphael, for telling me my fuel tank was shit- I was very very stupid to not listen." Said the driver, leaping lightly from the vehicle and walking around the front, grinning widely. In the glare of the headlights, Casey Jones' savior was revealed to not be human at all. He was, in fact, a short statured, walking, talking turtle, dressed in a black hoodie and jeans. His golden eyes were amused behind the blood red mask he wore. Only if one listened closely would they hear the soft 'clink' of metal on metal- a pair of sais tucked securely into belt loops.

Raph hooked his three fingered hands in his waistband and rose an emerald eyebrow ridge. "Casey, what the fuck, man?" he asked amiably. The human sighed. He grumbled. He clenched his fists. Finally, he exhaled heavily. "You were right, okay?" he groused. "You. Were. Right. Now HELP ME here!"

The grin turned into a full fledged smirk. "Sure, gorgeous. Lemme help ya out so ya don't break a nail."

Casey almost snarled, then remembered that the turtle had gotten out of bed on one of his rare nights off to come tearing through Manhattan in a highly suspicious moving van. He marched over to his helmet, filled with a half inch of rainwater, and dumped it out. "Bastard." He grumbled. Raphael scoffed and went over to the dead bike. "Come on, Case, let's get this thing to the garage before it rusts in place."

Casey went to his bicycle while Raphael opened the back of the truck, revealing equipment no respectable moving van would be carrying. He then lowered a ramp to the wet pavement. Casey eased the bike up and into the van, which the duo closed up. Then he hopped into the cab, wringing out his shirt hem as Raphael, now almost as wet as he, climbed into the driver's side.

"Thanks, man." Casey said softly. "I tried April, but-"

the turtle laughed. "Like APRIL would get her butt out of bed to come get your lazy ass. You're lucky I left my shellcell on. Damn near threw the thing at the wall before I realized it was you."

Casey winced, wringing out his hair. The last thing he wanted to see was a piece of tech as fantastic as the shellcell reduced to the state of Raphael's many alarm clocks.

"What took you so long?"

Raphael shrugged. "The usual. Mama Leo thought I needed six sweatshirts and three ninja masks. He also wanted me to take the shellcycle. I told him to go fuck himself."

Casey winced. "Tell me you didn't say that-"

"-in front of Dad?" Raphael chuckled grimly. "Yep. I did. My ass is his when I get home, but that's alright." He shrugged. "It was too damn stuffy down there anyway."

Casey Jones was silent for a while, looking at the odd person he had come to regard as his best friend.

"thanks." He said, looking out at the New York lights, blurred by the rain. Raph smiled. "No prob, Case. What are friends for?"

A/N: First chapter completed. Pray with me that I finish it. Crits and comments, push the little button. You know you want to.


	2. Friends in Low Places

**_A/N: Oh good, there are people who feel this needs to be continued. I feel loved. Well, here's chapter two. I hope it is satisfactory._ **

**Chapter 2: Friends In Low Places**

In Raphael Hamato's humble opinion, there were few things more exhilarating than an all out brawl in the middle of a New York alleyway. He kicked the body nearest him with the blade of his foot, grinning evilly as the tormented gangbanger gave a garbled sound much like 'mregeghl.'

"How many?" Raphael asked, turning to his partner in crime. Casey Jones eased his white hockey mask up onto the top of his head, feral battle-grin slowly fading into a normal smirk. "Six. You?"

"Six."

"Maaan," the human groaned, sheathing his hockey stick in the golf bag slung over his shoulder, "How are we supposed to figure out who's faster if they keep going out in even groups, huh?"

"Dunno, Case, why don't we ask next time before we pummel their faces in?" Raphael suggested brightly, stepping over another gang member on his way to the shell cycle. That one had had a knife; he had gone down first and hard. Raphael was willing to bet that when he woke up in the morning, he'd have a headache to beat the band. "Better yet, why don't you speed the fuck up and try to beat me, make the numbers odd yerself?"

"HEY! I can be just as fast as any friggin' ninja! Especially a TURTLE ninja!"

Raphael chuckled, grinning at his friend, who grinned back. Casey's eyes were still lit, glowing from within with adrenaline. The turtle was sure he looked much the same. In the distance, a familiar noise screeched to life-sirens. Someone had called the cops once the work was done. As usual.

"Let's jet," Casey said, also hearing the telltale whine. "I wonder what they'll come up with now."

"If it's 'a freak dressed like ghostface and a guy in a bug costume' again, I might start writing em' cue cards and stickin em' in their pockets." Raphael replied. "Do I LOOK like a giant bug? I've got a shell, for crying out loud!"

"Raph, they're gang members, not scientists. They probably wouldn't know a turtle from an' iguana."

"An you do?" Raphael replied with a smirk, pulling on his crimson helmet. Casey whapped him on the shoulder. "I know that you sure as hell ain't no iguana." Came Casey's reply, muffled by his own helmet. Having mounted his bike, Casey turned to see Raph grinning at him. He glared.

"It'll make it!"

"So long as it ain't raining, it might."

"Goddamnit, Raph!"

"Don't worry, Case, the forecast says clear skies. Up for a race?"

Casey Jones gave a smile that ranged from mischievous to downright evil, depending on what one knew about him. "Name the time and place, greenie."

"How about…NOW?!"

And with that, Raphael gunned the engine, tearing around the alleyway corner like a bat out of hell. Swearing, Casey took off not two seconds behind, leaving a group of very beaten down Purple Dragons to tell the police, once they regained conciousness, that a green freak who was definitely NOT a bug was planning on assaulting them all with cue cards of death.

The two motorcycles, one classic navy, the other ruby red, shot through the New York streets like the aurora borealis on steroids. They wove in and out of traffic, breaking laws and making up new ones, moving so fast that there was no way a camera could catch the fact that one of the drivers was bright green.

Raphael could only smirk in amusement as, once again, Casey was left waffled between two cabs. He shot his way around a minivan, automatically adjusting the hem on his black sweatshirt and coat. He slid smooth as butter through a crack in between a greyhound and a compact-

And swore as Casey landed on the road in front of him, having driven up and onto the roof of the greyhound courtesy of a flatbed half a lane back.

"You crazy fuck!" Raph yelled admirably, knowing that all his friend could hear was garbled ranting. Casey was laughing his head off behind his helmet, the turtle just knew it. Some people claimed to laugh in the face of danger. Casey Jones didn't just laugh, he fell over and busted a gut.

Raphael swung a sharp left, cutting off a bicyclist and running through a back alley mostly free of trash. The alley was the closest possible shortcut to the apartment complex Casey called home- the predetermined destination for whenever they raced. Raphael grinned. He had this in the bag.

Or he did- until he pulled up beside a very satisfied looking human on a motorcycle.

"Told ya she was good as gold." Casey said smugly, rapping the fuel tank with his knuckle. The turtle growled. "Next time, Jones," he hissed, doing his best imitation of Dr. Doom, "Next time."

"Rigghhtt," Casey said with a chuckle. "As if you could ever beat me on my own turf."

"speak for yourself, meat sack, did it just last week."

"That was a tie, you- WHAT did you just call me?!"

Raphael grinned, wheeling his bike into the darkest corner of the complex's garage and locking it securely. "You heard what I called you."

"Don't make me break out the bad soup puns, Raph."

"No effect, doll. I'm soup-proof, egg-proof, and pond-proof. You can thank Mikey."

Casey sighed dramatically. "All the bad turtle puns are taken, huh?"

"Yep."

"Gimme a minute. I'll think of one." Casey wheeled his bike beside Raph's, tightening the anti-teft lock and stepping back to admire his handiwork. It was at that moment that he felt it- the Question. That was what he had dubbed it, when the two of them started hanging out together. It was a silent sort of question mark, hanging in the air.

_Should I stay or should I go?_

"Feel like a beer?" Casey asked. That Raphael was underage never seemed to cross either male's mind. A slow smile spread over the turtle's face, one his brothers saw rarely. "Sure. I'd like that. Roof?"

Casey nodded. "Roof. Let's see if you can make it without your wheels, slowpoke."

Raphael growled, then smirked. "you're forgetting something, Case."

"Oh? And what's that?" Casey asked as he double checked the thief lock. A soft breeze blew past his ear- a breath. "I'm a ninja."

On instinct Casey turned- and glared at the empty space where his best friend used to be. "Bastard." He muttered to himself, producing the scratched copper key to his apartment from a pocket and making for the stairs.

By the time he made it to the roof, Raphael had made himself quite at home. Bearing a small cooler and a radio, Casey joined him on the rooftop's edge. The first aid kit, stocked with far more stuff than your generic Red Cross brand, was tucked safely away under the sink. Tonight was one of those rare nights where both turtle and human had gotten away without so much as a scratch. Casey yanked the top off the battered red cooler and tossed a bottle to Raphael, who caught it with a dexterity that the human found himself jealous of. Raph brought the beer bottle down to his face and snorted.

"Michelob light? Casey, does beer get any more pussy than this?"

Casey glared. "HEY! There's less carbs in this! Besides, it was cheap, and I'm the one supplying it, so don't complain, Princess."

_An' the fact that you can't hold yer beer worth a shit, _Raphael thought with a small smirk. He then paused with the bottle an inch from his mouth. His eyes flashing behind his mask as he realized something. "You did NOT just call me Princess."

Casey put his beer down, smelling a challenge. "Yeah, I did, buttercup. So what?"

The blow to his chin fell before he even saw it coming. He staggered back a few feet, then glared. "Oh, FINE, so THAT'S how its gonna be?" Raphael only smirked at him.

"GOONGALLA!"

Twenty minutes and a couple dozen scrapes later, Casey took a long swig of his beer, looking out over the city scape. Some people called New York the most beautiful place in the world; others called it the dirtiest. From up on the rooftops, you couldn't see the dirt, or the crime. You couldn't see much of anything but light.

The radio played softly, a fuzzy background noise to this rare moment of peace. A familiar song clicked on. Without thinking, Casey idly began to sing along.

"Got out of town on a boat, goin' to Southern islands. Sailing a reach before a followin' the sea…"

Casey didn't have a fantastic voice- he wasn't cut out for the opera. But he did have a good variety of pitchs, and when he sang low, bones vibrated. Of course, only one person on the planet, besides perhaps members of Casey's family, could attest to the fact that he sang. That other person joined in softly,

"In a noisy bar in Avalon, I tried to call you, but on a midnight watch I realized why twice you ran away..."

Raphael's voice blended perfectly with Casey's, due to his rough Brooklyn accent and softer tone.

"So I'm sailing for tomorrow, my dreams are a dyin'. And my love is an anchor tied to you, tied with a silver chain…"

"So we cheated and we lied, and we tested and we never failed to fail. It was the easiest thing to do..."

The final strains of "Southern Cross" slid into silence, immediately followed by a series of ear-jangling commercials. Not that the two were paying any attention whatsoever.

Casey raised his beer. "To Stills an' Nash?"

Raphael mirrored him. "To Stills and fucking Nash."

The two bottles slammed together, and then were chugged.

Raphael staggered home at three that morning, knowing that he was looking forward to a lecture from Leo and a "guilt trip of DOOM" look from Splinter. His head would pound like a drum, and Mikey would be the one sent to wake him up at five for practice. He would glare and be surly and probably get into a raging bitch fit with Leo. But, still…

It was an evening well spent.

Especially since Casey passed out first.

_**A/N: Feel free to review. And stuff. **_


	3. Self Made Man

_**A/N: Chapter three. Well I'm on a roll, let's call me butter. We're getting closer to the slash, people, I promise, thanks for being so patient with me. **_

**Chapter 3: Self Made Man**

Casey stared.

He stared some more.

He swallowed, hard, then took a deep breath.

"April?" he asked weakly.

The woman standing in front of his dresser, emptying the top two drawers, flashed a quick smile at the confused vigilante. "Yes, Casey?" she asked in that we've-been-through-this-before-dear tone.

Casey scratched his head. "Run me through this again?" he asked weakly. April rolled her eyes, but smiled as she placed the last of her shirts into her suitcase and zipped it up.

"Casey, I don't think it's that complicated." She said, putting her hands on her hips. "You don't love me. You can't love me. I understand."

Casey blinked. "April, babe," he said as sanely as he could manage, "When, exactly, did you get the idea that I don't love you?"

April gave a little sigh and rolled her eyes in a way Casey recognized, a way he had seen many times before, on the face of his mother, his aunts, and many former girlfriends. It was the patented "oh, you silly boy" look, and Casey had seen it enough to know that whatever came next, he probably wasn't going to like it.

April gently patted the bedding next to her. Without a word Casey flopped down beside her, pushing his long hair behind his ear as he turned to look at her. She gripped his hand, as she had before on their 'not-dates'. But this wasn't a loving hold. It was the tight grip of a good friend.

"Casey," April started, "Do you remember that time that Donny got infected by Bishop's virus?"

"Yeah, how could I forget? He nearly killed us!"

April nodded. "That's true, but it's beside the point. We were supposed to go on a date that night, remember? And I thought we were going on a motorcycle ride, and you showed up in a tux.."

"Heh, yeah," Casey said, rubbing his head. "That was a screw up, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was. But that wasn't the only time we did it, Casey." April said, a gentle nod. "Every time we try and get together, it seems like there's something that comes up. Donny mutating, Nano.."

"Hang on," Casey interrupted, "You're basing this on all the times our DATES got interrupted? April. We're best friends with a group of freaking ninjas! It happens!"

That much was true; very few O'Neil-Jones dates were complete without rampaging robots, alien invasions, or sudden time-crunching trips to alternate dimensions.

"Casey, do you believe in fate?"

"Huh?" the man looked at April, confusion clear on his features. What the hell did fate have to do with the fact that his girlfriend had arrived at eight this morning and announced that they were breaking up?

"You know, Fate. The great wheel. Karma, destiny, do you believe any of that?"

Casey surprised April. He gazed out over the peeling paint of his bedroom, a look of concentration on his face. His hands fisted underneath his chin, and his dark brows furrowed. Images and memories flashed before his eyes; the flames as his family's store burned down, the midnight call that had his mother sobbing. Weights and workouts and the carefully rationed purchase of hockey masks.

"Nah." He said finally, shaking his head. "I'm a self-made man, April. Nothing controls my life but me."

April smiled. "Maybe it doesn't." she said with a nod. "But I believe in Fate, at least a little. You're a good man, Casey Jones, and you'd make any woman happy, but I don't think you're the one for me, and I don't think I'm the one for you."

"April," Casey replied, shifting so that he faced her fully, "if you think we can't date because we've been mixed up a couple of times-"

"Casey," April said, standing up, "We'd never WORK, can't you see that? Sure, we'd be okay for a little bit, but we're just too different. I work with computers, with numbers, with a system! I like order, control. You're the ANTITHESIS of control, Casey Jones. You're chaos, and panic, and noise."

Casey looked bleakly up at her. "So you're breaking up with me because we're too different?"

April kneeled in front of him, placing both hands on his knees. She smiled gently. "No, Casey. I'm not breaking up with you because we're too different, although that's a part of it. I'm breaking up with you because you don't love me."

Casey almost screamed. Almost. It was a close call.

"April, how the hell do you FIGURE I don't love you?!"

April stood, stretching, returning to her suitcase. "Oh, you love me," she said over her shoulder, checking the draw for any extra clothes, "But it's not the right kind of love. I'm like a sister to you, Casey, not a girlfriend, not a wife. You can't date your sister. You can't marry her, or live in a house with a white picket fence. Somewhere out there there's someone who's right, for the both of us. THAT is Fate. You know, the pinky string? The line that connects soul mates?" she smiled wryly.

"You don't have my string," She said. "And I don't have yours. You love someone else, Casey."

Casey blinked. April crossed her arms over her chest, gave a small smile.

"Still confused?" she asked.

Casey stood up, placing his hands on her shoulders, looking deep into her shockingly green eyes. "April, why would you think I love someone else?"

It was an honest question from a confused, hurt man. April's shoulder sagged a little as she sighed once more, leaning against Casey's chest.

"We never kiss."

"What?!" Casey asked, shocked.

"We never kiss, Casey. We hold hands, we hug sometimes, but we never kiss, or do other intimate things, and before you say a word I know you're not that kind of man, but Casey- it's been over two years. And I can honestly say in all that time that you've never even attempted a walk at the next base. Obviously, whoever you want to kiss..isn't me."

Silence.

"Nothing to say to that, Mr. Vigilante?" she joked weakly.

Arnold Casey Jones was an honest man. It was a part of who he was, a part of what made him both frustratingly obtuse and incredibly endearing. Casey would rather cut off his own limbs then lie to those he cared about. Looking at April O'Neil, pretty, sophisticated April O'Neil, Jones knew that she was right, as she often was. There was love here. Lots of it. But it was not the kind of love they had expected.

It was a…painful paradigm shift.

Casey let go of April, stepping back, falling onto the bed, head in his hands. Immediately the woman was at his side, hand on his shoulder- the picture of a concerned friend. A friend. Nothing more. She had never been anything more.

"Casey?" she asked. He looked up at her, and his eyes, although they weren't teary, were something remarkably close to it.

"I'm sorry, April." He whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

April gently kissed his forehead, wrapping him in a loose hug. "Don't worry, Casey." She said with a smile. "Sometimes the person you need is closer than you think. You'll find him, and when you do, I'd better be the first person you call, understand?" She picked up her suitcase and headed for the door. "I'm gonna go open the shop. I'm sure the little old ladies are just lining up to spend their life savings on things older than they are."

She headed for the door.

"April?"

She stopped, turned around.

"Yes?"

"…movie night with the guys?"

She nodded. "I'll be there."

Casey sat on his bed for a good ten minutes after she left, staring at nothing. His head was a mess of swirling thoughts, a soup of detritus. It was ten minutes more before he reached for the phone, dialing a number so familiar the numerals had been wiped almost off the buttons by the oil of his fingers.

"Hey, Raph?"

"Case?"

" Come over. And bring beer. Lots of it."

**_A/N: And that wraps up chapter three. I know Casey was a teensy bit out of character for this chapter, but the poor boy wasn't exactly at his best, either. Give him a break. Reviews, plz, writing only gets better once you know what you need to work on. Technical Note: I have no idea what time period this story happens in, except that it's before the Lost Season and Fast Forward. I pretend Fast Forward didn't happen. It's for the best._**


	4. What Hurts The Most

**Chapter 4: What Hurts The Most**

Fuck.

Fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

Raphael supposed that he could be thinking of much more creative expletives than just the F word, but danger often reduced him to mono-syllabic words, like "Get Out" and "Oh Shell." Of course, if his brother were here, Leonardo would have his head for swearing as much as he was.

Then again, if Leonardo were here, he wouldn't be as scared as he was.

A groan. He swore, swerved the car- a Cadillac, white. Go fucking figure. The only car available for hot-wiring and it stood out on the city streets like a spotlight, was probably being reported even as he tore through New York with it. Drops of sweat dripped into his eyes. He blinked furiously, hands on the wheel, refusing to think of how many laws he was breaking, and what would happen if anyone caught film of a giant turtle in a leather interior.

He'd have to dump it, he decided, swerving hard and barely missing a parking meter by an inch. After he got somewhere safe. The bastard who owned it could afford another one.

A soft gurgle of pain as he hit a manhole cover too fast. Turning a wheel meant for five fingers, he cut across two lanes, silently hoping his hoodie hid what the New York shadows wouldn't.

"Don't you die on me, you son of a bitch." He hissed through his teeth at his back passenger. "Don't you dare fucking die on me!"

Casey Jones didn't answer.

3131313

Raphael was worried for Casey.

Shell, they were ALL worried for him. Splinter had remarked just the other day that Casey seemed subdued, more grey and tired. While usually this would excite his sensei to no end, the rat being constantly irritated with Casey's bumbling self, Splinter did not like the sudden change. Leonardo watched Casey every time he came into the lair, his eyes alight with the same concern he often showed his brothers. Michelangelo went out of his way to make their human companion laugh, often resorting to stunts that got him severely injured.

Even Donatello, in his own quiet way, had tried to support Casey, always being near when the man was in the Lair, always sitting quietly with him, giving companionship. Don was a giver, and always had been; his natural actions merely shifted from his brothers to his friend. A silent agreement hung over the four brothers; Casey's drastic mood change had something to do with the now infamous (and Michelangelo-dubbed) "Great Schism"- the breakup with April O'Neil.

Raphael had known, the instant Casey told him to bring beer, that something was up. Arrival at the apartment twenty minutes later with two twelve packs had confirmed what he had already suspected- Casey Jones was an emotional trainwreck. But not for the reasons Raphael had thought.

"I led her on." The human explained. "I led her on and I lied to myself. What the hell kinda person am I if I lie to myself? I can't fucking afford to do that, Raph. I can't afford to be a liar."

April, for her part, kept a careful eye on Casey, making sure he ate and cleaned, being there for him, making it clear that she did not hold him at fault for his disillusions. But neither she, nor splinter, nor three of the turtles, could understand why Casey was so upset.

Raphael knew, and he saw the results of Casey's anger- recklessness, constant patrols, more injuries in more places, and even more skin of their teeth escapes than the dynamic duo were used to. It got to the point where even Raph knew enough was enough. Things had come to a head that evening.

"Goddamnit, Casey, you're NOT going out again!"

the human had shouldered his hockey bag, attempting his signature smirk and failing miserably. "Aw, is Raphie jealous? Thinks I might beat his KO record?"

Raphael had growled. "Casey, you're going nuts! You nearly busted a rib last night, and they almost caught you the night before! If you keep this up every Purple Dragon in every fucking borough is gonna know where you live and who you are!"

"Makes it easier for me."

"CASEY!"

"WHAT?"

Casey's tone had been dangerous. Like the growl of a half starved wild cat. Raphael had reached out then, taking a hold of the hockey bag. "Don't do this, Case." He said. "Please. You're fucking scaring me, man. You're going off the deep end."

Casey had laughed. "I've been teetering there for years." He remarked. Raph shook his head. "It's just a breakup, Casey. JUST A BREAKUP. It wasn't even one of the bad ones! I..god fucking damnit, I can't fight with you if I don't know what you're fighting FOR!"

They were the words of one Shield Brother to another. Casey had taken a deep breath, put a hand on his best friend's dark green shoulder.

"I've got to figure it out, Raph." He said. "I've gotta see what's truth an' what's lies. If I don't know me, then I don't know anyone. An' this is the best way to do it."

"Casey.."

"Later, man."

And the human had left the apartment, bag in hand, leaving one ninja turtle staring after him.

3131313

It had been about ten minutes later- after yelling, throwing a few things, and punching yet another hole in cheap sheetrock- that Raphael had come to a conclusion.

Casey might not know Casey, but Raphael knew Casey. And there was no way in hell he was going to let something like this take Jones down.

And so it was that he had made it to the alleyway just a couple buildings down from the Dakota. It took balls, working in uptown Manhattan, but then again, if Purple Dragons were anything, they were ballsy, especially under Hun's leadership. They were also predictable.

They had surrounded Casey, a semicircle of bleating sheep, carrying the usual- pipes, chains, knives. Nothing Casey couldn't handle, even on his off days, but Raphael, crouching on the grate fire escape, knew that this wasn't just an off day. He glared down at the group, fingers twitching towards his sais. It didn't matter if Casey didn't want his help, he wasn't just gonna let his moron of a best friend get himself killed.

The usual taunts from overconfident punks- "putting you down, knocking your lights out, beating your ass for good" etc. Nothing the turtle and his human companion hadn't heard before. Raphael watched Casey, waiting for the slight twitch of his shoulders that would give away the telltale swing of his signature hockey stick. He waited, waited-

At first Raphael wasn't sure he heard it. It seemed like it was far away. Very, very far away.

But then Casey dropped. Didn't swagger, didn't groan, didn't shake it off and charge. No, he dropped.

Like a motherfucking stone.

Michelangelo had always been the fastest of his brothers, the natural athlete, the kid who probably would be in track if he was human. Mikey had always taunted his older brother about being just a hair too slow, just a fraction off. Raphael had never attempted to prove him wrong. He was the strength, Mikey was the speed. It was just the way things were.

Not tonight.

Raphael was silent. Completely and totally silent. While slamming one punk's face into a brick wall. While bouncing another off a dumpster. While snapping bones so loudly they could be heard in Central Park, he made not a sound. And when he got to the last punk, sniveling and crying and still waving his fucking gun around, Raphael smiled, that smile that no one, save perhaps his brothers, could ever attest to seeing.

He took the gun. Raphael didn't like guns, never had; they weren't sporting at all. He leaned over the sobbing teen. He couldn't be more than sixteen; a newer dragon. Hun was recruiting them young these days.

Pistol whipping wasn't a precise art, but Raphael was a ninja. He managed admirably.

**A/N: annnddd there you have it. Casey is horribly out of character, but he's just been through a breakup. Trust me, weird shit happens during breakups. You'll have to bear with me, because the next couple of chapters will be like this.**


	5. Live Like You Were Dying

**_A/N: I think we're done with the warnings, if you've stuck with me this far you know that there is slash ahead. Please note that while I know a freakish amount of useless facts, I am not a medical student, therefore, everything in this chapter is either scantily researched or just plain made up. If anyone has an issue with this, then please email me for the definition of the word 'fiction'. Thank you._**

**Chapter 5: Live Like You Were Dying **

After a couple dozen fights with his green best friend, Casey Jones had realized that it was much, much better to be safe than sorry. He didn't own a first aid kit, so much as a miniature hospital; morphine packs, syringes, professional gauze, gloves, several painkillers that he 'acquired', and a set of simplistic surgical tools, to list a few of the more 'exotic' items. He had told Raphael that it was for his benefit, so that the turtle wouldn't have to worry about going home to Donatello. Raphael had looked at the padlocked box, looked at his best friend, and then promptly told him he was full of it. The box was nicely broken in a half hour later.

Raphael dumped the car a block away from Casey's apartment complex. A Cadillac in that area was bound to cause suspicion, and the blood in the back was going to rouse even more of it. Hopefully, the rich bastard who owned it wouldn't want a police inquiry. Rich bastards were good like that.

Heaving all one hundred and ninety pounds of Casey Jones up a fire escape was no walk in the park, but adrenaline does weird things to best friends. Not five minutes after the fight in the alleyway Raphael Hamato found himself with an injured friend propped up in the bathroom, his mini-hospital open and ready. Upon ruthlessly beating down the Dragon who had dared break the sacred rules of vigilante engagement, Raphael had regained some form of consciousness- enough to realize that the gun he was using was a Saturday night special.

_Figures, _the turtle thought. _Carryin' a gun and can't even make it a killer. _

Raphael had encountered guns before, in all their various nasty forms. A Saturday night special, or mousegun, was usually carried by women who wanted piece of mind and men who didn't want to get caught. This one had been a kel-tec P32, tiny bullets. Enough to knock the wind out of a man, but not to kill him unless he got shot in the right place. And personal experience told Raphael Hamato that Purple Dragons sucked at aiming.

"Arnold Casey Jones, you are a FUCKING moron, you know that?" he growled at the unconscious man, pulling various implements from the box. "I swear to fucking god, if you do ANYTHING like this again I will break your goddamn neck in two, and then I'll bleach your friggin skull and give it to Donnie as a NOVELTY PENCIL HOLDER!"

Silence.

When had his hands started shaking? No good, no good- shaking hands wouldn't help Casey now. He took a deep, cleansing breath. The tiny part of him that was still sane noted that Leonardo would tell him he wasn't holding the breath long enough. He beat that part down heavily and focused.

Casey had been shot on his left side. What was on the left side? Lung, kidney, liver…heart. Bones..ribs..spine…his eyes shot open. A sai came quickly out of a beltloop, ripping Casey's tank top neatly down the middle. Yanking the cloth away from his friend's chest, Raphael surveyed the damage.

Man, this kid sucked at aiming. The blood looked bad, really bad, enough to throw Raphael into a dragon-killing frenzy, but no organs had been punctured..but just to make sure…Raphael cleared his mind again. Two times in one day, Splinter would be proud..Raph focused on Casey, on his broken body. Slowly, ever so slowly, the turtle's flame red chi swooped through the human, burning through every artery, every ligament and tendon.

No. No internal damage, but…THERE!

A small, dark blot. The bullet.

Shit.

Raphael opened his eyes. "Casey?" he said. "Case, man, I'm about to do something that's gonna suck a lot, but it's your fault in the first place, so don't you dare complain, you fucking twat." The human said nothing, only continued his slow, raspy breaths. Raphael reached for the surgical tools.

The first dig had Casey groaning; the second had more blood and the human actively trying to evade the pliers. The third had the tiny lead bit dropping to the floor. Raphael breathed slightly easier, but only slightly. He needed to close it up, cauterize it, or Casey Jones would bleed out like a stuck pig. How much blood had he lost? A lot, but not enough to kill him. Yet.

It was amazing how very much brothers had an influence on one's life. In the back of Raphael's head, a voice that sounded remarkably like Donnie's popped up. "Clean the area around the wound. Once the foreign body has been removed, the flesh needs to be cleaned, disinfected, and cauterized. They have tools for that at a hospital, but we're a little SOL in that department, so heating up anything metal would work, like a prong or-"

Or a sai.

Raphael moved easily into action, putting a pan of water on the stove to boil, filling another bowl with water and some soap, getting the bottles of iodine and hydrogen peroxide.

Another ten minutes later, Casey Jones, pale and half dead, was at his best friend's complete and utter mercy. Raphael looked from the human on the floor to the tip of his sai, glowing a dull red from both the boiling water and the flame of the stove.

"And you're not even awake to enjoy this." He grumbled. Then he plunged the sai straight into his best friend's side.

13131313

Four hours later, Casey Jones awoke on his bed.

Funny. The afterlife looked just like his apartment.

He blinked.

Blinked again.

"Raph?" he coughed out. "Are you dead too?"

The turtle perched on the chair next to his bed shot him a dirty look. "I ain't dead an' neither are you, Evil Kneivel." He said sourly. "You got yourself shot in the side, fucking idiot."

The side?

"Shouldn't that, like, hurt?" Casey asked, poking at his side. Sure enough, the entirety of his chest was wrapped tightly in gauze and linen. Raphael rolled his eyes. "That's what the vicodin was for, dumbass." He growled.

"You did this?"

"No, the Shredder did. Popped in, saw you were feeling shitty, and decided to help. OF COURSE IT WAS ME, YOU IGNORANT BOOB!"

Casey rose an eyebrow. "Ignorant whatty?" he asked. Raphael rolled his eyes. "Fuck this, man, fuck you. Just…fuck YOU."

Now Casey Jones was hyped on enough vicodin to stun an elephant. He had had a very bad night, what with being shot in the side and all. But Casey knew Raph. He also knew that the bottle of whiskey beside Raph had been safely in his liquor cabinet and full when this night began.

"Raphael?" he asked. He didn't dare move. His side hadn't done anything yet, but that didn't mean that as soon as he lifted his legs his body wouldn't execute a rebellion.

Raph stood, admittedly swaying a little as he made his way over to Jones' bed. "You. Are. A. Moron." Raphael said, poking Casey's chest with each word. "A complete and utter jackass who has no idea of his own fucking mortality and when to STOP FIGHTING."

Funny, no one else Casey knew got more eloquent with alcohol. Then again, Raphael was a turtle.

"It was fucking breakup, Casey. You're a good person, not a liar, and there isn't a Dragon in New York you can beat up to find what you're looking for! You don't think you're a liar, you're fucking SCARED, scared of winding up alone! April was a nice little security blanket, wasn't she, Jones? Perfect girlfriend on your arm, and you were safe from the world. You CAN'T FIGHT what you're trying to, Casey! It's not like you can beat it into submission!"

Casey opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know, when Raphael loomed over him. "As far as I am concerned, Casey Jones, you are the thickest block I've ever met. Go to hell."

And then Raphael kissed him.

This wasn't a platonic kiss. This wasn't a my-best-friend-almost-died-let-me-reveal-my-true-feelings-now kiss. This was a tonsil chasing, tongue wrestling, I-could-fuck-you-right-now-but-you've-been-shot kiss. And when it was done, Raphael Hamato turned around and walked to the window, leaping out it with far more grace than a drunken man could have, because, after all, he was a ninja.

**_A/N: Don't you just HATE cliffhangers? (insert evil grin here)_**


	6. Ten Rounds with Jose Cuervo

**_A/N: As with the last chapter, I admit to a complete and total lack of knowledge as to what it means to get completely and totally smacked. This sounds a little more like a drug trip than a drinking spree, but hey, I don't drink, cut me some slack. I don't own TMNT blah blah blah, let's get on with it._**

**Chapter 6: Ten Rounds with Jose Cuervo**

The first thing Casey did was go to a Doctor.

"Mr. Jones, I am impressed. The level of first aid on this wound is almost professional. If you hadn't done it you surely would have bled out."

It was a ninja, my good man. A ninja.

The second thing he did was call in sick to work all week, telling the boss that there had been a death in the family and he would be at the farmhouse. Casey had always been a smooth liar.

The third thing Casey Jones did was buy liquor.

Lots of it.

Whiskey, rum, beer, gin. Anything and everything. Casey went through mental lists, suggestions from friends and family, the beer catalogue at the gas station next to the garage where he worked.

And then?

Arnold Casey Jones the Second, son of Arnold Casey Jones the First, The New York Vigilante, he who struck fear into the hearts of gang bangers everywhere, got drunk.

Horrendously, terribly, spring-break-video worthy drunk.

He sat at his tiny kitchen table, contemplating each bottle in front of him. As he downed the liquids of various hues, he found himself contemplating the shapes of the bottles, their carefully crafted curves and lines. As his mind became more foggy, this train of thought turned to who resembled what bottle.

Crown Royale- Donatello. Classy, strangely shaped and yet easily stored, subtle in a way that no one could quite understand, but respected anyway. This, of course, led to an image of the techno-turtle wearing a crown on his head, and Casey giggled his way through the entire thing.

Mikey was a keg. DEFINTELY a keg. Completely safe if he was in a holder, but let him roll loose and the night could get very interesting indeed. Casey wondered for a moment what kind of beer keg Mikey would actually be, but then decided not to push it. After all, the orange bandana on the one he was currently finishing was weird enough.

Both Splinter and Leo would be sake bottles. Of course, one had to be tall and green, the other short and grey, but the sweeping of the bottle, the careful curves, would be almost identical. Casey remembered hearing once that sake wasn't as strong as most people made it out to be, but he figured he owed it to his friends to try it at least once. Besides, the room was spinning nicely, and it hadn't been doing that while he was shooting with his good friend Jose, so sake- like ninjas- must be constantly underrated.

April…ah, April. Bittersweet, heart-breaking April..she'd be a blue lagoon, cool and cruel and deceptively kind. Frosted glass. They can see out, you can't see in….

The entire room was a swirl of colors, and Casey wondered for a moment whether the blue and the red should be intersecting. Didn't he know two blue and red people who didn't get along? Why had he bought all this?

_Musta wanted ta' ferget somethin'_…he thought disjointedly.

There was one bottle left. Or was that two? Two identical bottles. Alike in shape and in size and even in the color of their beautifully intoxicating insides. Two bottles that no one else in their right minds would put together….

His lips burned.

A lot.

Swearing, he stood- then fell over.

The floor was nice and cool, in that way floors feel when you're completely sauced. Casey considered, for a moment, getting back up, and then decided to not even bother. The ceiling was dripping, and he wanted to see what was underneath all that ugly ass grey paint.

There was a noise in the background. It sounded vaguely like a phone, but not really. Phone with wings, no doubt, extinct for twenty years, but if you looked just right you could still find them…only had to go about five hundred miles…

"An III would walk f-five hunre…miles…and IIIIIIII woul' walk five hunre…more…"

He hadn't sung for a while. Who was the last person he had sung with?

"TO STILLS AND NASH!" He roared at the ceiling. Then he blinked.

The ceiling wasn't there anymore.

Instead, there was a swirling mass of red and green and pale crème, looking down on him.

"Arnold Casey Jones," said the splotch, "You look like shit."

Casey flipped the splotch off casually. "Gooo fall 'in a portal." He informed the alien, who sighed in a way he distinctly recognized.

"I knew it would happen, but I didn't think you'd react this bad, you stupid man." The alien said affectionately. "Get up. You've caused enough trouble."

Something about that voice….

_You'll find him, and when you do, I'd better be the first person you call, understand?_

"You," Casey said, pointing a trembling arm up at April O'Neil, "You said HIM!"

And then Arnold Casey Jones the Second, son of Arnold Casey Jones the First, New York Vigilante, he who struck fear into the hearts of gang bangers everywhere, passed right the fuck out.

**_A/N: Annndd that's the end of chapter six! How long was Casey out? How did April know? What exactly happened to Raph? All this and more will eventually be answered once I get around to writing chapter seven. WOOT._ **


	7. Guys Buy The Drinks, Girls Call The Shot

**Chapter 7: Guys Buy The Drinks (Girls Call The Shots) **

April O'Neil was an intelligent woman. At one point she was the assistant of the esteemed Baxter Stockman, mechanical genius (and absolute madman). She could hack with the best of them, download a virus quicker than the eye could see, and take over the security system of any building. These were just a few of the reasons that Donatello Hamato was secretly, or not so secretly, in love with April O'Neil. But April's true power never lay in her smarts, although those were formidable enough. No, April's real strength lay in her heart.

She had never had any illusions about her not-relationship with Casey Jones. Later she could say she saw it coming from a mile away, and smile that tiny little smirk that is every woman's birthright. Later, she would tell her friend that she knew it all along; later, she would help agonize over gifts and listen to worries and assure both her 'brothers' that no matter how sappy they were, they were still incredibly macho.

Later, but not now.

"Boys," she informed the unconscious form of Casey Jones, "Are damn morons. No matter WHAT species they are."

April glanced around. The place was a mess, but then again, the owner had been in an alcohol-induced fog for the past three days. With the sigh only a friend can muster, she glared down at the dead weight at her feet, rolled up her sleeves, and went to work. The bottles were collected, rinsed, and recycled; the kitchen was swept, the counters cleaned, the fridge emptied. One hand wrote a shopping list while the other organized the coffee table. Weights were put back into their rackets, laundry was piled and prepared for washing, things were dusted. And by the time April was done with all of that, she felt marginally better.

But that still left Casey.

Thankfully, April had been gifted with a goodly amount of common sense. Nudging the comatose man with her foot, she pulled out her cellphone.

"Hey, Donnie, it's April…well, that depends on what you mean by 'how is he'…he's breathing, if that's what you…well, that's what I was calling about…mhm…yeah, he's pretty bad. Oh, come ON, Don, if you can't trust your own smarts…okay…yeah…look, we're lucky he doesn't have alcohol poisoning, so…of course I'll check the dosage!…For science, okay? Right. Talk to you later, Don, you're a doll."

She hung up, then reached for her coat, removing a small bottle from the pocket. It was plain medicine bottle, plastic with the twist off cap. She opened it and tapped lightly. A small purple pill dropped into her hand. She looked at it and then at the unconscious Jones.

"I shouldn't be enjoying this as much as I am." She said to herself, then went to retrieve a glass of water from the sink. Forcing both water and pill into Jones' mouth, she gently slid her finger up and down the other human's adams apple, coaxing him to swallow.

One minute later, Casey Jones opened his eyes, flipped over, and hurled all over his kitchen floor.

"eeewwww," April said from her safe position across the room.

Casey would have replied, but his stomach was busy rejecting anything and everything it had eaten in the past few days. When he was finally done, a cool cloth was pushed gently into his hands. "Can you make it to the bathroom?" asked April. He nodded weakly. "Good. Do that. I'm going to clean up your mess…again."

Had Casey been in his right of mind he would have wondered what April meant by 'again', but seeing as he'd been seeing stars for the past few days and had just recently tried to reject his internal organs, he figured he'd better let it rest. He staggered to the bathroom as April retreived a mop from some long forgotten corner.

A half hour later, showered, shaved, and generally looking more human, Casey sat on his couch and blinked a lot as April dropped an aspirin in front of him.

"I'm supposed to trust that after the LAST thing you gave to me?" he asked suspiciously. April smiled at him. "THAT, Casey, was the Hamato Hangover Pill. You're lucky Donnie gave it to me willingly, or he'd he'd be here asking you questions about side effects."

Just thinking about that was enough to make the small headache left over from the pill start banging, and Casey chugged two aspirin. Then he leaned back and looked at April, whose green eyes were glittering in a way he recognized.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like I've been shot, and boozed, and dirty." Said Casey. "For three days."

"That's about right."

And then April O'Neil smacked her ex boyfriend across the face.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!" Casey yelped, hand pressed against the pulsing red mark on his cheek. April glared at him. "For being a complete and total moron."

"What the hell are you talking-"

"No one has seen Raphael in three days."

Casey shut up.

April sighed. "Casey.." she began. "I love you, a lot. You're one of my best friends, and so is Raphael. I figured you two would get it eventually, but I guess I forgot to factor in that you're both hard-headed manly men who can't see past their own noses. Or snouts."

A sudden rush of memory had Casey Jones chuckling. "You said him." He said softly. "When we..broke up.."

April nodded. "You're right." She said. "I did. Casey…" she placed a hand on his forearm. "You're not dumb, Casey. You can be a bit dense, but you're not stupid. What happened?"

The entire story spilled out over the course of an hour. The longer patrols, the near-misses, the argument..the shooting. The aftermath of the shooting.

"So he kissed you?" April asked, tapping her cheek with a finger. "Donny figured he might, but-"

"Wait," Casey interrupted. "DONNY is in on this thing?!"

"Just because he spends most of his time at a computer desk doesn't mean that he can't see what's going on around him, Casey," April said, slightly annoyed. "He called me when Raphael didn't come home. It was easy enough to put together. Casey," she said, catching the human's attention. "you need to think about this. Think about it long and hard. You don't' just get drunk because a friend kisses you. That's not your modus operandi."

"My what?"

"Your method of operation. If you were getting sickeningly drunk for no reason, Raph would be with you. Here you are, and here Raph isn't. Therefore, something happened between you two that resulted in the entire Clan freaking out. Leonardo is out for your BLOOD, Casey, and Mikey hasn't cracked a joke since Raph disappeared."

Casey bit his lip. "Damn." He whispered. "I really fucked up, didn't I?" he asked.

April gave a small smile. "Love makes fools of us all, Mr. Jones." She said.

"I'm not in love, April!"

Casey was about to continue his tirade when a pair of emerald green eyes locked with his.

"Repeat that, Arnold." April said calmly.

The usage of his first name should have been a tipoff, really, it should have been.

"I said, I'm not in lo-"

**-**SMACK-

"OW!"

April O'Neil stood up. She was shorter than Casey by about four inches, but she seemed to grow a foot and a half.

"I was GOING to try and let you figure this out for yourself," she said sweetly, "But since you seem to respond better to violence-"she raised her hand again. Casey's arms came up.

"MERCY, woman!" he yelled. April paused. "Casey," she said. "Casey, Casey, Casey, Before you say ANYTHING else, think. Think really, really hard, and when you're done thinking, then answer this question: Do. You. Love. Hamato. Raphael?"

And so Casey did think. He thought about all the former girlfriends whose numbers were tucked into forgotten corners; thought about all the late night beer runs, the near misses. A smile came to his face as he recalled the beautiful explosion of the gas station on fifth street that had resulted in a near cataclysmic Leo-Raph fight. He thought back, way back, to what felt like before the beginning.

"_Hey, hey, EASY, Cowboy! You stopped em, you did good, now take it easy!" _

Casey remembered the first time Raphael took off his mask, with its odd illusion of no pupils, and remembered his shock and utter surprise when he found himself looking into a gaze as golden as honey.

"_Like what ya see, Jones?" _

And when he was done, he looked up at April, who was smiling at him in that damn winningly triumphant way that every woman did.

"Jesus fucking christ." He whispered. "I'm in love with him. I'm in…I am such a fucking moron."

"I've been telling you that this whole time, tiger," April said with a small grin. Then her stern look was back. She leaned in close, as though afraid that some invisible intruder would hear her next words. "Leo's been looking all over the city. He hasn't found him yet."

"What do I do?"

April froze.

She turned her head and stared at Casey.

"WHAT did you just ask me?" She demanded.

Casey sat there, a broken man, head hanging, entire existence limp. "April, he ran off. Either he hates me or he thinks I'll never talk to him again, either way he's hiding and hiding good. There's no way I can find him, not if his brothers and Master Splinter can't. What do I do?"

**-FWAP- **

Apparently, April was getting tired of smacking, if the rolled up magazine was any indication.

"OW!" Casey bellowed. "GOD DAMNIT, WOMAN, can't we get through ONE conversation-"

"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!" April said furiously. "WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?" She reached forward, seizing the front of Casey's tank top, and hauled the man to his feet. "You are the Vigilante! Feared the city over! You are going to GO out there, you are going to FIND Raphael, and you are going to TELL HIM what you just told me! GO! FIGHT! WIN!"

There was a moment of brief silence, and then..

"April, can you let me down now?"

"Oh," the woman said, blushing. "Sorry." She let go of her friend's front. Casey stood, stretching a bit, wincing at the dully throbbing pain of his not-quite-healed gunshot wound. "How pissed is Splinter?"

April winced at the mention of the wise old rat. "Let's just say you'd better show up at the Lair with Raphael or never come back at all." She said. Casey rolled his eyes. "Business as usual." He muttered. "Leo taking his usual route?"

"Yeah, I think he's hoping Raphael will come to his senses and come home." April said. Casey nodded, heading for the bedroom. Sitting there, laying against the same chair Raphael had occupied, was his golf bag. His mask lay on the bedside table. He picked both up and returned to the small living room, where April was standing at the window. When he reappeared with his gear, she smiled. This wasn't the same smile she had been giving- this was a smile of genuine relief. "That's my boy." She said.

Casey grinned. "Always," he said, moving to put his mask on. He made for the window, opening its lock easily. April put a hand on his shoulder. "Casey?"

"Yeah?" he asked, pushing the mask up.

"I..I know how you feel, and how you and Raphael are, but you've gotta remember…" April bit her lip. "Raphael's just a kid, Casey. He's a scared teenager in love, and no amount of badassery is gonna change that. Be careful, and don't do anything too stupid, alright? The last thing Donny and I need is to pull a sai out of your gut."

Casey nodded. "Got it." He said. "Will you lock up?"

"Of course. Go save the world, Mr. Jones."

"One mutant turtle at a time, April."

And with that, Casey was gone, onto the fireescape and down the ground remarkably quickly for a human being. April watched him go, then closed the window. She didn't latch it, but she closed the drapes.

"Good luck, Casey." She said softly. "I think you're gonna need it."

-End-

**_A/N: Go April Go April GO! (waves flags) everyone loves April, especially when she kicks ass. And for anyone who cares, her line "go, fight, win" is, in fact, a direct reference to Edna Mode (codename E) from the Incredibles. A friend long ago decided that when I was an old lady, I would be Edna. I have to agree. Just a few more chapters to do, you lucky ducks. _**


	8. If You're Going Through Hell

**Chapter 8: If You're Going Through Hell (Before the Devil Even Knows) **

Many things could be said of Raphael Hamato, depending on how you knew him. As a brother, he was easily angered, easily frustrated, and incredibly protective. As a son, he was exasperating, passionate, loyal, and true. As an underling, he was frustrating, overbearing, insubordinate, and a general pain in the ass.

As a best friend, he was the epitome of perfection.

Raphael didn't ask questions. He figured it out on his own, and if he couldn't then he asked. He told you when you were being a moron and he apologized when he was wrong. He praised where praise was due, and pointed out mistakes that could get you killed. If there was anyone you'd want guarding your back, it was Raphael Hamato.

There was one thing that best friends don't do, however, that Raphael did a lot.

Lie.

The first thing he had ever lied about was Casey dating April. The man had taken a deep swig of his beer, belched, and admitted that he loved April O'Neil.

"Whaddaya think, Raph? Is it a good idea?"

It had been an honest question, and deserved an honest answer.

"Sure, Case," he had said, taking a sip of his own drink. "Sure."

Now Raphael would be the first to admit that he often lied about things. To Splinter, to Leo, and (though very rarely) To Donny and Mikey. But before that moment, he had never lied to Casey Jones. Something in his honor code, strangely twisted as it was, wouldn't let him lie to a friend the same way he lied to a family member, and yet, as time went on, he found himself doing it more and more.

About what outfit looked good for a date with April.

About what flowers would look good with April's hair.

About where April may prefer to eat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Raphael found himself hating April. And he wasn't really sure why. When he was with her, all feelings of hatred vanished; she was his sister, his female companion. April knew things that his brothers didn't, felt things his brothers didn't. April was as much his friend as Casey was. And yet every time he pictured them together, Raphael felt his blood boil a little more.

And he told another lie.

Splinter had talked to them about love, when they were thirteen. He told them of the various kinds of love, of its forms. Sibling, Parent-child, teacher-student, even lover to lover. Love, Splinter had told his children, was one of the tight cements of the world. It bound people together, stronger than almost anything. But, he warned, love was also brittle, and had to be well cared for.

"Love, my sons, is like a crystal window. Keep it clean, honor its flaws, and it will always shine brightly."

3131313

It was darker than usual in the Bronx, which was saying a lot, all things considered. The job was supposed to be a simple one, a knockover on eighth street; the old man who owned the place could hardly see in the middle of the day, let alone in the middle of the night. The Dragons were warned to stay close, to stay armed, to stay SAFE. After all, more of their members had been hospitalized during the past three days than the past two months, although, according to Scales, the unthinkable had occurred.

Bug-face and Hockey Mask had broke up.

No one had seen the vigilante whack-bag or his big green friend in the past week. According to all the informants on the Manhattan side, Hockey-Mask had been popped by a junior member, who had yet to come out of a coma at the Central Hospital. Whether or not he was dead, the bosses couldn't be sure, but if he wasn't, then he sure as hell wasn't running with Bug Face.

The green freak had been responsible for more than ten hospitalizations in the past few days. The cops were getting hot on the Dragons' trail, and not even Hun's deep pockets could keep them all at bay. Other gangs were crowding at the edge of purple territory. They were teetering deep. Their orders were strict: Get as much loot as you can and run.

Of course, nothing really goes to plan if you're a Purple Dragon.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you boys stealing isn't nice?"

Fucking shit fuck.

1313131

Raphael grinned menacingly at the group of Dragons huddled around the truck, fear shining in their eyes. Oh, this was rich. This was BEAUTIFUL. And it was JUST what the Doctor ordered.

The streetlight flashed off his sais as he slipped them from his belt with the ease of long practice, picking his first target almost leisurely. A few of them had shivs- he counted eight dragons in total- but shivs he could handle. After all, he sparred with a brother who used the double katana like they were butterknives.

He hadn't been home in a while.

The first kid went down easily; he gave him a couple punches for good measure. He'd been a little less brutal to the group last night, a little more stealthy, a little more ninja-esque. Splinter would have been proud. Hell, he'd even remembered to check the entire scene over for evidence, like Donny always did on their little 'outings'. Nothing.

The second kid had a chain. Managed to wrap it around a sai handle. Raphael couldn't help the tiny satisfied smirk as the kid hit the dumpster with enough force to dent it. Mikey would have seen that coming. Then again, Mikey was better at maneuvering the chains of his nunchucks. This kid didn't have a chance.

They were yelling, now. "Run!" "Fuck this, get outta here!" "JESUS CHRIST!"

He'd chase them later.

Right now he had to focus on the third scumbag.

The one with the gun.

All of them ran with guns now, at least one in every group. Like they were parading the fact that they'd shot Case. Like they were PROUD of it.

They wanted pride?

He'd SHOW EM pride.

When it came right down to it, Leo and Raphael were much more alike then they were different. Both were powerful fighters, headstrong and serious. Leo liked plans; Raphael liked action, but all in all they were almost the same person in two bodies. The flipped coin of a single personality. Raphael wondered vaguely what would happen if Leo ever lost control. If he ever took that last step that separated him from his angry younger sibling.

Total chaos, he thought with relish as he expertly broke the sobbing gang member's arm. Complete anarchy…it would be beautiful to watch. And it would probably be what happened when he finally went home, if he ever did.

A noise behind him made him drop the kid, tossing him to the side, searching the darkness. His eyes went up, to the narrow fire escapes; down, to the darker side of the alley. Ninjas approached from the darkness. Best friends often came from the light.

He swung around, tossing out a fist; it was easily dodged, and he was locked into a headlock. The smell of cheap cologne and shaving cream filled his senses.

"EASY there, Cowboy!" said a voice he remembered, from a dream he wished he could forget. "They're down, you stopped em, you did good!"

"Not near good enough!" Raphael snarled, pulling out of the headlock. He didn't know what he was expecting- a sudden pop to the snout, a punch in the plastron, maybe even one of those feared hockey sticks full in the face. What he didn't expect was two gloved hands coming up on either side of his head, locking him in place and forcing him to look straight ahead, into a pair of familiar blue-grey eyes.

"That's nice, Raph. Kiss and run off. Is that any way to treat a lady?"

The turtle couldn't help the smirk that rose on his face, despite the tremble in his voice. "You sure as hell ain't no lady." He informed Casey Jones, who looked distraught and placed the back of his hand against his forehead, tossing his neck back like some bad actress in a B romance. "Hark, for my loved one has left me to perish, and verily, he hath been kicking ass without me!" the human said in the highest pitch he could manage, then lifted his mask up.

"Raphael?"

"..Yeah, Case?"

"We're fucking morons."

And Casey Jones leaned forward, wrapped his arms around his best friend, and gave a declaration of love that was remarkably like a kiss. When he pulled back, Raph opened his mouth. Casey placed one gloved hand over it. "Not now, Raph." He said softly. "We're…not ready. How's about we call an ambulance for tweedle dee, dumb, an' dumber. You roughed em' up pretty bad…"

Raphael's heart gave a small jump, of the kind that had become regular since he had finally figured out how he felt about Casey Jones. He nodded. "Just a little payback, that's all." He said. "Just a little."

Casey had to laugh. "Raph, you've put ten guys in the hospital. I'm only one."

"It would take twenty of em' to equal you!" Raphael said hotly, then blushed crimson against his dark green skin.

Casey rose an eyebrow. "We're gonna have a nice, long talk about this, you and I," he said with a small smile, pulling out his Donatello-patented cellphone. "but first, what say we finish the job, eh?"

Raphael grinned in a way his friend distinctly remembered. "I think I left some for you." He purred. Casey smirked. "You'd better have."

-End- 

**_A/N: I am evil. I want you all to acknowledge that I am evil. And I like leaving people on cliffhangers. Well, you know how this story goes- get to reviewing!_**


	9. Playing It Backwards

_**A/N: And here it is, my friends, the final chapter of this story. Ready, Steady, GO.**_

**Chapter 9: Playing It Backwards **

Leonardo always polished his swords in the same fashion.

Up and down. Left to right. Up and down, left to right. There was a rhythm to the process, a beautiful symmetry that only those attuned to the sword- or the completely anal- could really understand. Oftentimes, when polishing his twin blades, Leonardo Hamato would wish that keeping his family together, and in line, was as simple as polishing a sword blade. But, as Usagi had once pointed out, "Even the straightest of sword edges can have their tiny faults."

Leonardo did not like the world fault. It placed blame, something that caused strife. Fault implied a flaw, something wrong. It was a mistake. But faults were a part of everyone. The perfect being- the perfect ninja- did not exist, and no matter how hard one strived, there would always be faults, in performance, in choices…in family.

These were the things Leonardo thought as he polished his swords for the fifth time, watching the door, waiting. Always, always waiting.

When April had shown up that afternoon, she bore no news of Raphael. She did, however, have a runner on Casey, which included an exceptionally long list of various alcoholic substances purchased from the nearest outlet. Michelangelo had asked what Casey bought; Donatello offered to check the list against the very real possibility of alcohol poisoning; and Leonardo had gone out, and returned, empty-handed.

Splinter had said nothing. Ever since Raphael's abrupt disappearance, the old rat had said nothing at all. That should have been what disturbed his children the most, but no, it was not that Splinter said nothing that had his children up in arms. No, no, it was the fact that the rat, facing the disappearance, abduction, and perhaps death of his son, didn't seem worried at all.

When Leonardo, angered at his own defeat at the hands of the Shredder, disappeared for days on end, Splinter sat up, nursing a cup of tea, his eyes always on the door. When Michelangelo ran off into the sewers after breaking one of Donatello's earliest inventions, the rat had immediately gone hunting for him. When Donatello, lost in a scholarly dream, had spent far too long at the junkyard, it was the old rat that brought him home.

But Splinter never chased Raphael.

Somewhere in the back of their minds the other brothers were jealous of this. Raphael had a freedom they did not- the ability to completely cut himself off from his family, from his obligations and his life. Raphael had a best friend, a beat, a rhythm of the street that did not match the rhythm of the sewer, and he could dance to both at the same time. It was for this reason that Splinter had never chased Raphael. While Leo, Don, and Mikey were all bound by thick cords to their family, Raphael was tied by a thin string. It might take him longer, but he always found the end, tied around his finger. And he always followed it home.

But this wasn't like those other times.

This time, there was no feeling of Raphael at all. The fiery blaze that was their brother simply didn't exist, not even against the smogged backdrop of their beloved city. Raphael had cut all astral contact.

That was what scared them the most.

Three days. Three days of not knowing.

Yet Splinter wasn't worried. True, his words to April- sharp, biting, low- had been hurried and hoarse, but now? He merely waited, patiently, like someone standing at a stop light, or waiting for a dinner order. He acted, in fact, much like Raphael hadn't left at all, like he was merely out on one of his numerous 'dates' with Casey. Raph's chores were carefully divided; his training gear put away. It was like their brother had left on a prescheduled trip.

None of them expected it, really, when it happened. Michelangelo had been playing a videogame, upside down, staring at the screen. He yelped and fell out of his chair. Donatello, working carefully on a small microchip, swore and pulled his hands away, grabbing his head and glaring at the door. Leonardo, from the small training area, dropped his swords and polish with a clang, scuffing the blades after the sixth round with the worn cloth.

Splinter, sitting across from a quiet April O'Neil, merely smiled at the sudden flare of hot red chi, the tip of his tail curling up as he said, standing to his full height and grasping his stick, "My sons are home."

And the Lair's door slid open on silent hinges, because this was a ninja's household, after all, and Donatello hated being lax.

There were a million questions Leonardo could have demanded answers to, a million worried tones Donatello could have used, and a million bad jokes Michelangelo could have cracked at Raphael's expense.

None of that seemed to matter when the three Hamato siblings were faced with the greatest of the world's "What the FUCKs" greater even than Bishop's rampage on little grey men and Leatherhead's bizarre obsession with jazz.

And it came in the form of Casey Jones' arms around Hamato Raphael's waist.

It was Splinter who reacted first, teetering on tiny clawed feet, coming to the door with the soft 'taptaptapscratch' of his walking stick. He surveyed the scene thoughtfully. Raphael blinked down at him, and for the first time anyone could remember, he looked almost ashamed. Casey wore a face much similar, only tinged with a kind of euphoria. Splinter nodded, once, in an approving manner- and then whacked them both over the head with his stick.

"OWWWW!!"

"Sensei, what the SHELL!"

Splinter smirked.

"Raphael." He said sternly. "If you ever do that again I shall be most displeased. Mr. Jones, take care of my son." He turned, tapping over to the couch, glancing at his other three children. "Have at him, Boys."

Leonardo stalked forward on silent feet. Raph moved to stand between his brother and newfound lover, and the tension- old, comfortable, familiar- flared to life. Leo placed a hand on Raphael's shoulder. Whatever was conveyed in that touch, it was enough for Raph to step back, leaving Casey standing before the door looking nervous. Leo circled the human, examining the sword he held in one hand.

"Casey."

"Y-Yeah, Leo?" Casey asked, eyes never leaving the blade as it slowly began to twist.

"How often do you see me sharpening this sword, Casey?"

Casey Jones gulped. Hard. "A…lot?"

"That's right. Just a…friendly little reminder." The look on Leonardo's face could only be described as evil. "Welcome home, Raph." He tugged his sibling into a loose, one armed hug. It didn't quite convey all the worry and the stress of the past three days, but it was enough for now. They'd fight later, everyone knew, and it would be fantastic and possibly apocalyptic, but for now they were at peace.

Donatello had a small pad of paper out. "April tells me you tried out my hangover pill. How'd it work?"

Casey made a face. "Fine, if you LIKE your entire hangover being forced out your throat."

Donatello smiled sweetly. "Well, that's good to know, Casey. After all, I've got more of those pills. Bottles..and bottles..and bottles of pills. I don't even know what some of them do yet. I'd love to have a chance to experiment."

Although not as brazen as Leo, Donny got his point across. Casey winced. Mikey groaned. "Aww, man," he complained, "You guys got all the GOOD threats!"

"You're the youngest, Mikey," Raph pointed out from where he had sat beside Splinter on the couch. "You don't get to threaten the significant others."

"Yes I do! I'm a brother, it's my right! I could be even more annoying!"

April shuddered. "Please, no." she said. Donny shook his head. "forget Raph, we'd probably kill you before he'd manage it."

"Well…hmm.." Mikey stuck his tongue between his teeth, obviously deep in thought. "I could sic Klunk on you!"

"Oh, and have him sleep on me?" Casey asked. "Real scary, Mike."

"Damnit." Mikey shifted from foot to foot, and then blinked. The metaphorical lightbulb went on over his head. Since it was a Michelangelo lightbulb, it was bright orange, covered in glitter, and was vaguely shaped like the Silver Sentry.

"I've GOT IT! I could make you listen to country music! BACKWARDS!"

"Backwards?" Casey asked with a raised brow. Mikey nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Everyone knows there's satanic messages in country, it's like everyone knows Aliens built Stonehenge!"

Donny blinked. "Aliens, Mikey, did not build Stonehenge."

"yeah they did."

"No, they didn't."

"The what's an Utrom if it's not an alien?"

"…….."

"HA! I win!"

"I thought you got everything back if you played a country song backwards." Raphael said thoughtfully. April nodded. "Right. Your house, your dog, your girl or boyfriend…"

"So you still fail, Mikey." Raphael pointed out. Michelangelo pouted. "I will think of something!" he said. "But until then…anyone hungry?"

"Food would be fantastic," Casey admitted as his stomach growled out loud. April rose an eyebrow. "Did you eat ANYTHING?" she asked. "I got food while I was out!" Casey said defensively. Raphael leaned over the edge of the couch. "If you call the hotdog cart over on high street food," he said conspiratorally. Mikey dove for the phone. "PIZZA!" he called happily. Then his eyes narrowed, focusing in on a small, dark mark on Raphael's neck. Far too small to be a bruise got in a fight…

"Raph, is that a HICKEY?!"

_And so it was that Raphael Hamato and Arnold Casey Jones finally got over themselves, and found in one another the person whom they could stand to be around for the rest of their lives. The Hamato Clan was increased a pair, and normalcy- or, as normal as the lives of a family of mutants and ninjas and_ _vigilantes and engineers could get- returned. Of course, when one snowflake_ _falls others follow, and more romance would soon be brought to light in the gentle glow of computer screens, with the helpful advice of brothers. But that is another story. _

**PLAYING IT BACKWARDS **

**THE END **

**_A/N: HOLY FUCKSHIT BATMAN I FINISHED A MULTI-CHAPTER. Thanks so much to all my reviewers and fellow authors who both fav-storied and fav-authored me, I feel so honored by the attention. I had a lot of fun writing this and now that I've proven to myself that I CAN finish a multi-chapter, I might just write a few more. I would like to apologize for the constant shifts in the spelling of Donny's name, since I can never remember if I end it in Y or IE. Special thanks to Amaronith on livejournal, who kicked my ass throughout this whole affair and helped me when the inspirational well was running dry, and to my Scottish partner-in-crime Starkiller who reawoke my love of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I'll be seeing you!_**


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